In the end, a total of three Vyxit soldiers descended the ramp and stepped out to meet with me. Much to their credit, they did not immediately try to kill me though, understandably, they were pretty standoffish.

I could scarcely believe my eyes.

The three Vyxit had severe, unwelcoming appearances. Clad in their power suits from head to toe, silvery silhouettes somehow brought to life. At least Trenton infantry uniforms let you see the lower halves of our soldiers' faces sticking out beneath the digital displays on their dark visors. But the Vyxit? Seeing them standing there, barely moving, glaring at me (presumably)? They seemed more like machines than living things.

I couldn't help but be reminded of Lassedile teachings about the appearances the souls of the dead took on in Hell. According to Lassedicy, the souls of the damned were stripped of everything that harkened to their physical, earthly identities, with only their essence remaining, direct from the Angel Himself.

I suppose I shouldn't have been counting my blessings. That we'd already broken the metaphorical ice between us was nothing short of a miracle.

"Why should we believe that you are who you claim to be?" one asked.

Despite their (totally understandable) lack of trust, I had to admit, it was nice seeing my hard work finally pay some dividends. The information I'd given EUe in the Tower's control center had worked exactly as I'd hoped it would. Not only had the Vyxit modified their technology to translate my wyrmsong into whatever forms of language they understood, they'd even gotten their suits to emit their replies in perfect Trenton!

Even with their bodies hidden beneath their suits, their general shapes titillated my imagination. All were larger than a human being would be, though the smallest of the three was only barely so. I'd already seen its species during the first battle of Fort Marteneiss. It was one of the tall, stilt-legged quadrupeds with a two-armed, roughly humanoid torso atop it, except for the head, which seemed just so ever… insect-like?

The other two were half and again as tall as a human. The more alien of the two was nearly as wide as he was tall, with four arms extruding in two sets of two from either side of his body, which had the shape of an upside down pyramid. His upper pair of arms were massive and ape-like, ending in clasping claws; the other pair was slender, segmented, and held close to its body. His feet were plinths.

The third Vyxit's profile was nearly human, except bulkier—much bulkier—with long arms and digitigrade legs that made me wonder if he might have preferred being on four legs to standing on his hind pair. A dexterous, sharply tipped tail thrashed behind him in vigilant sweeps, along with a pair of chiropterous wings on his back. He beat the wings once before, and then folded them against his sides.

The stilt-legged one had introduced himself (herself? itself?) as Twiginix⁠. The pyramid was named Alahumadwod, while the winged beast went by Qua'loc.

Of the three, Qua'loc was by far the easiest to read. His suit's translator feature evocatively captured his deep, masculine voice. The aggressive, almost feline growls that punctuated his speech made it clear that he was bending over backwards to suppress a bellicosity itching to blast me to smithereens.

After Qua'loc, Twiginix was the next most-readable. His body language was soft-spoken and hesitant. He kept his arms close to his body and turned his head every few seconds in a nervous vigil, only to stare, stop, and stumbled down the ramp when he saw the Sword in my grasp. Even now, he was still fixated on the weapon.

But, as for Alahumadwod? I had no clue what to think. He was stoic and golemoid, as still as a statue, except when he moved.

I wondered what was going on inside that odd body of his. Prudence? Suspicion? Seething rage?

Only time would tell.

I was coiled on the ground a handful of yards away from the exit ramp at the back of the Vyx starfighter module, tightly clutching the Sword with both hands. The Vyxit had made it clear they'd speak with me and me alone, so I'd had to ask Brigadier-General Watterson to get her troops to keep a polite distance from our esteemed guests.

&alon sat atop my coils, hugging me for all that I was worth—trembling as she held me—with her arms wrapped around the upper part of my belly, not that the Vyxit could see her, thank goodness. Not wanting to look at her Vyxit tormentors, she'd pressed her face into my scales. Her fire wings were stunted; they lay against her back in a heap of crumpled folds.

To think, the great and terrible Green Death was this emotionally fragile.

What a world…

"I will say it again, serpent," Qua'loc said, "how can we be sure that you are the one serpent among billions we were meant to contact?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

I'd already tried telling them that the other wyrms would happily vouch for me. Alas, that was no good.

"I mean," I said, "you must have some suspicion that I am who I claim to be, otherwise you would have already killed me on the spot."

Qua'loc dropped onto all fours and prowled toward me, weaving side to side in a circuitous, slaloming path, stalking me like a panther.

"Only because Martyr EUe insisted that we only attack serpents who attack us, first," Alahumadwod said.

Qua'loc purred in approval. "Were it not for EUe's commands, I would never have deigned to debase myself like this in the first place."

Hearing EUe's name immediately put me at ease. I raised my forepart in attention. "EUe? You know EUe?"

Twiginix pressed his two arms together, end to end. "Positively! Absolutely! Unquestionably! Indubitab—"

—Qua'loc glanced back, and growled in his general direction—

"—Erm, Yes," Twiginix said, scuttling back. He looked left and right in twitching, excited motions, and then dared to look at Qua'loc.

"Qua'loc, this serpent has a Sacred Blade. Possesses it, that is. He exercises control over the weapon, j-just as Martyr EUe told us he would."

Alahumadwod crossed his uppermost pair of arms. "It could be a fake," he suggested.

"N-Negative," Twiginix replied. "That's contraindicated by the spectral signature Truth of Vision discerned—detected—from orbit. Counterfeit is perhaps possibly plausible, but highly… um… uneconomical. Impractical."

I decided to interrupt their argument. "You said EUe wanted to speak to me?"

"Af-ffirmative," Twiginix said.

Qua'loc growled.

"Even if it is the Martyr's will, I worry it is an act of folly, talking to this creature." He pointed his tail at me, but then sat on his haunches and looked up at the sky. "We should join the others, not help the Blight. There is honor to be won. Finally, freedom is within our grasp, but only if we pounce and take it!"

"The Blight is over," I said. "I don't care if you don't trust me, just tell EUe that I did as he suggested and talked to &alon." Briefly, I glanced down at her. "You can tell him it worked."

"What is &alon?" Alahumadwod asked.

But I kept on speaking. I didn't know how much longer these Vyxit were going to put up with me. No matter what, I had to make sure they knew what EUe needed to know about what had transpired.

"I have agreed to serve as &alon's father, and in return, she has agreed to obey my commands. From this day forward, the Blight and its horrors no longer pose a threat to the Vyxit peoples, nor to anyone else," I explained. "From now on, if a wyrms—a serpents—attacks you, it's solely because of their own personal grudge. You'll see that all wyrms' eyes are golden now; this indicates that they are in full control of their bodies; they are no longer the fungus' puppets." I looked at the three Vyxit in their power suits. "Most importantly, as a disease, the Blight is no more. It's no longer contagious, and the spores cannot transmit the disease. It's harmless. The fungus isn't dangerous anymore. Right now, other than the serpents, who—as I said—are acting of their own free will—none of the Blight's creatures will attack without provocation." I glanced down at &alon again. "Right, &alon?"

She just cried and squeezed me tighter, burying her face in my scales. "Daddy Genneth!"

Qua'loc flapped his wings in contempt and snarled. "How stupid do you think we are? What, do you expect us to take off our helmets and infect ourselves just for your amusement? Hmph." He turned around and trudged back to the ship. "I'm done with this farce."

"You'd defy the Martyr?" Alahumadwod said, turning in what I believed was surprise.

"I'd defy anyone who would tell me how to live my life, Alahumadwod," Qua'loc replied.

"Y-You shouldn't say that, Qua'loc," Twiginix said, sheepishly. "The Beholders might be observing—uh, no… listening."

"Bah!" Flapping his wings again, Qua'loc reared up and fell forward onto the ramp, making a loud thud as his paws hit the metal. "The revolution has finally arrived, brothers. The days of clannsteads kowtowing to their Beholders are over. This is a new birth of freedom, and I for one intend to grab it by the throat."

But little did I know that help was quite literally just around the corner.

After all, miracles do tend to happen when we least expect them.

"D-Dad?"

I'd recognize that voice anywhere, even when it was ragged and faint.

For a second, I forgot myself, and trumpeted my children's names in wyrmsong—not that they could understand.

"Jules! Rayph!"

My kids limped out of the garage in a three-legged walk, leaning on each other for help, like siblings should. The sight of their trembling limbs made me reach out with a hammock of pataphysics to catch them as they stumbled.

I floated them toward the ship. I guess you could say they were riding cloud nine.

Almost in unison, Twiginix and Alahumadwod raised their arms and tapped the sides of their helmets. Twiginix made a grasshopper sound, while a thick smacking noise came from Alahumadwod

"This… this is impossible," Alahumadwod mumbled.

Twiginix skittered toward the ship. "Qu-Qu-Qua'loc, Qua'loc, Qua'loc!"

The strangely feline beast turned around in rage.

"What is it n—"

—But his rage cut out the instant he laid eyes on Jules and Rayph. For a moment, Qua'loc was a silver statue, trembling only at his wings, but then he pounced down and rushed toward my kids with feline grace. He prowled around their floating invisible cushion, pacing left and right. Beams of green holography shined from his helmet and roved up and down my children's bodies, scrutinizing them to the last detail.

"What is it, Qua'loc?" Alahumadwod asked.

Qua'loc pressed a paw on the side of his silver-coated head. With a sibilant click, the portion of his power suit covering his head opened, and then parted to either side and receded down his neck, revealing his face, a four-eyed mix of feline and simian. A rufflike, reddish-brown mane rimmed his richly peach-hued skin.

Huh, I guess that made him a… manticore?

Who'd've thunk it?

Qua'loc stared at Jules and Rayph, predatory pupils widening in wonder as he reached out and let his paw come to rest on my daughter's exposed shin.

I recognized the look in the manticore's eyes. It was the look every single one of us at West Elpeck Medical Center had searched for over the better part of the last two weeks. We'd lived for it, fought for it, and died for it, only to come up empty-handed every time.

"I can't believe it," he whispered, his face limned in eureka and thanksgiving. "They're convalescing. They're cured! They've been cured!!"

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